


John The Poet

by lemoncellbros



Series: Macaw's Works [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Writing Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 07:59:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14807405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoncellbros/pseuds/lemoncellbros
Summary: Sherlock is curious about John's interest in poetry, laughter ensues.





	John The Poet

London was a dreadful place to live, John had concluded. Summers in Iraq were not as brutal as the ones in London, especially when you spend them with Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock was an incessant cuddler, contrary to popular belief. If they weren’t doing something, you could bet your last dime that Sherlock had his arms wrapped around John, either buried deep inside his mind or silently watching whatever John was doing over his shoulder.

Sherlock was perpetually touch-starved, a problem mostly stemming from people being afraid of him. This summer, as they were all practically drowning in the humidity, John banned cuddling. Unfortunately, Sherlock Holmes had the most convincing puppy dog eyes, rivaled only by Sam Winchester. John was therefore forced to allow some cuddles.

And that’s how John Watson found himself sprawled across the couch at 221B Baker Street, his head sat upon the lap of one Sherlock Holmes, who was contentedly stroking his hair. John was holding a book of poetry above his face, quietly reading while Sherlock stared into the distance, thinking about their latest case. 

John lounged without his shirt, exposing his many battle scars, though he couldn’t care less in this wretched heat. Sherlock had left his dress shirt unbuttoned, giving him a disheveled look. 

After a few hours, Sherlock interrupted John’s reading.

“Do you write poetry, John?”

John quirked an eyebrow. “Sure, Sherlock. Back in the day, at least.”

Sherlock smirked. “Come on then. Give me one.”

John put his book down and raised his hands dramatically, as if he was about to perform a life changing ballad. 

“Shall I compare thee to a summer's day, because thou art much, much too hot for me.”

Sherlock grabbed a throw pillow he’d tossed on the ground to make space for them, and promptly smacked John on the head with it.

“NO!”

John collapsed onto the ground in a fit of laughter, and Sherlock joined him when he could no longer pretend to be annoyed.


End file.
